


Desolation Row

by My_Black_Crimson_Rose6



Series: The Ghost Of You [4]
Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, M/M, Multiple Soulmates, Sharkface gets the Meta suit, Soulmate-Identifying "Last Words", Soulmates, Strangulation, short & not sweet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-21
Updated: 2015-10-21
Packaged: 2018-04-27 09:33:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 770
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5043142
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/My_Black_Crimson_Rose6/pseuds/My_Black_Crimson_Rose6
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He always had it since the very beginning. Right on his damn left hand: "It Bounces?!" Oh he hated those words.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Desolation Row

**Author's Note:**

> Finally we put Washington out of his misery as he's mourning. Poor kid. 
> 
> Anything else I write for this series would be set in their next "rebirth" cycle. So... fresh start.

Terrence has had his soulmate mark since the beginning of his life. He knew the last thing his so called mate would say to him. He knew and waited; he waited for that moment to fuck fate over. To prove that he’d get more than that. He’d get more than what he’d get. So he joined the army. He fought and bit and only fought some more.

**IT BOUNCES?!**

It was bullshit. Terrence didn’t understand it. He could never understand the words on the inside of his left palm. So, instead he got himself inked. Beautiful flames etched into his skin in his youth, his palm constantly covered over with black marker. Sometimes he’d go ahead and write other messages on his hand instead. ‘ _I love you’_ or ‘ _I’m glad I finally found you’_ were his favourite. He liked to pretend that maybe they’d grow old together, have kids and settle down and own property. Terrence always wanted to own property.

But life wasn’t fair and he _knew_ that. He knew it but refused to believe that they’d fuck up with his soulmate.

It wasn’t until they took him off the front lines, gave him a team, gave him a new name—Pillman had wrapped his arm around his shoulder when the crew gathered around the newbie went out and thought up a nickname for him. Sharkface. Terrence couldn’t help but laugh, accepting a toast and welcome aboard. He should’ve expected when everything was going right fate would throw a wrench in his fucking tires and he’d go tumbling.

The mission was simple: protect the asset, roast the Freelancers.

The armored solider looked to the gun in disgust, glancing up to Terrence as he started at the gun as well in confusion. “IT BOUNCES?!” It was directed at him, his soulbrand burned in the palm of his hand and all he felt was rage. Rage and pain.

 _This_ was his soulmate? This man was his soulmate?! They were on opposite sides! He was the enemy! There was nothing about this that makes it in any way acceptable. There was nothing about anything that would make him happier than seeing the slate wiped clean. A hard restart. A do over.

Terrence wanted a new start and he was about to set his foot down. He’d burn his soulmate and himself alive if that’s what it fucking meant. He would not have a cold dead mark on his hand for the rest of his life. And, if he kept his mouth shut it’ll mean that the man’s mark would never burn.

All Terrence felt was rage… and pain. So much fucking pain.

\--

Terrence was dead and all that remained as a shell of a beaten down angry man who wanted nothing more than to make the words on his palm stop burning—stop shifting into something else. It wasn’t until the suit arrived that it made sense.

**Maine?**

Oh it made so much fucking sense when he put on that white armor and rolled his shoulders. It felt _good_ to see his soulmate again—and this time he wouldn’t let him go.

\--

He didn’t know what the Mercs expected when they launched an attack like that. Desperation? Maybe. Most likely. But it could be that whole notion of a _final showdown_ where winner takes all and all that shit. Sharkface didn’t fucking _care_ about the war, he’s fought in too many, he didn’t care about the ultimate goal.

He was here to kill Freelancers and there one was.

There were still men fighting despite losing both Felix and Locus; he’s heard their communications go silent. If the return of fire behind him, their death only spurred his side on to continue fighting— _I’m not going back to prison_.

The man turned, blond hair flat to his skull as he stared at the fishbowl helmet. Dull eyes seeming to spark with a life—recognition, pain. Good. Good, that’s what Sharkface wanted. “Maine?” And there it was, there was the final note that he needed before he wrapped his fingers around Washington’s throat and squeezed. His eyes watering, mouth gasping for one last hopeful breath, his feet kicking weakly as Sharkface lifted him with ease. Washington had a dead soulmate mark on his face—so he had another soulmate and that one died.

_Bang, Bang._

Terrence shut his eyes, lowering the man to the ground. “We’ll meet in a later life, maybe then it’ll be better.” A harsh reset. He was pulling the plug now, now as his mark grew cold and the Freelancer stared up with his dead bloodshot eyes.

A harsh reset.


End file.
